Page 10 of Mine
Dominic raises his drink and clinks it against mine. ‘To the blushing bride.’ He leans closer, brushing his lips over my earlobe. Goosebumps scatter in every direction over my skin. What the fuck is wrong with me?
‘Cheers.’ Ciaran drains his drink, then helps himself to another.
‘Someone worked up a thirst,’ Dominic comments dryly. ‘I assume you took care of that parcel.’ He lifts his whiskey to his lips, eyeing his brother over the rim of the glass.
‘Packed, wrapped and ready for delivery.’ Ciaran winks.
‘Good man.’ Dominic nods his approval. ‘In fact,’ he tilts his face down, a playful expression playing on his lips, ‘I think you’re thebestman. What do you think, sweetheart?’
I think I’m in way over my head.
Dominic continues before I can answer. ‘The others won’t like it, but tough shit.’ He shrugs like it’s already decided.
Others?
How many of them exactly are there?
‘And when is the big day exactly?’ Ciaran interrupts my thoughts, a hint of humour in his tone. If he was shocked, it’s evaporated along with his second whiskey.
Dominic’s eyes veer to mine. ‘Is tomorrow too soon?’
He can’t be serious.
Even Rory gave my father two months’ notice. ‘Perhaps a little,’ I squeak.
‘You’re right. We need time to plan this properly.’ Dominic nods.
‘What about Uncle Frankie?’ Ciaran asks warily.
‘Leave him to me.’ Dominic fires his brother a warning look.
I take a sip of my second ever whiskey, oddly grateful for it. Not nearly as grateful for the fact that I’m no longer betrothed to Rory Kavanagh, though. Even if the cost is another terrifying—albeit disturbingly attractive —fiancé.
Ciaran bangs his glass down on the counter and turns to Dominic. ‘I’ll go deliver that parcel.’
I assume they’re referring to drugs. Which poor, unsuspecting family will lose a child to a heroin habit next? I glower but manage to hold my tongue—for once.
‘Keep mine and Aoife’s good news to yourself for now.’ It’s not a request. ‘I’ll tell the family myself.’
The family.
Sounds ominous.
What the fuck have I got myself into?
‘It’s your funeral,’ Ciaran shrugs, then fires one last wary look at us before disappearing out the back.
Dominic fixes the full weight of his attention back on me.
‘What’s the duration of this… arrangement?’ I straighten my spine, forcing an air of detachment, but there’s nothing detached about the way my hand trembles in my lap. Adrenaline races through my blood at his presence, at his proximity and at the arm that’s still draped around my shoulder. I look at it pointedly and he drops it with a small chuckle.
‘We’ll have to remain married for a year—no matter how quickly I take Kavanagh out.’ He sips his whiskey casually, like we’re discussing the weather, not planning to murder a man.
‘Why?’
‘Our family has one rule,’ His eyes meet mine again. ‘Kincaids don’t marry for allegiance, position, or power. And certainly not to provoke our rivals. If my Uncle Frankie wereto get wind of our arrangement, it would be… problematic—for both of us.’
‘So we have to act like we’re in love?’ I shake my head and my curls bounce around my face again. You couldn’t make this shit up. ‘What if we were to just announce our engagement?’ I gauge his reaction carefully. ‘Maybe I could hide out for a while until the Rory thing blows over?’
